


a terrible night

by asbestoskid



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Insomnia, i don't know what else to tag this as honestly, i'll let it speak for itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 15:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18919963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asbestoskid/pseuds/asbestoskid
Summary: Consider this a preview of an upcoming piece.





	a terrible night

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this a preview of an upcoming piece.

When Toft wakes up, he can’t see a thing.  
There’s a moment of panic, of doubt, but it’s quickly torn away when he comes to realize it’s simply pitch dark, clouds hiding any moonlight that could peer through the curtains.  
His breathing slows, he places a paw on his face and scratches his cheek.

He starts to notice things, imperfections. Another itch rolls down his shoulder. he places a paw on it.  
He can’t see, only feel. And things always feel so much bigger than they are.  
He feels imperfections, many of them. bumps and dents on his skin. It’s distressing.  
He tries to claw them away, but they stand their ground. Some small forgotten scabs scrape away, but he still feels strange, unclean, perhaps he’d even feel ruined if he wasn't feeling so vacant.

Another itch, another itch. They coat his body. his paws reach and claw and scrape away at them. He twists and curls terribly trying to reach them. Paws slipping into the sleeves and neck of his nightshirt, uselessly scratching.  
He shivers, though he’s not sure if he feels cold. He’s too distracted to feel cold.

He pauses, yes, that’s it. It’s cold. Terribly cold.  
He curls tight under his blanket, paws tucked beneath his chest. The warmth, or perhaps the cold, brings him a calming distraction. He shivers, but he feels a bit of accomplishment with it. His face feels hot, but when he feels his chest with his paw, he’s terribly cold.

He lies still, for a bit, finding some solace in his confusion. He doesn't itch. Not right now.  
But it’s tiring, sitting still like this. He rolls over, thinks for a bit. The itch is back. He scratches it.

It’s a terrible cycle, but it’s how he spends the night. Scratching and curling and writhing all night, awakened from a dream he can’t remember and unable to get back to sleep.


End file.
